Croatoan
by Super Brutus
Summary: Sam Winchester the only one truly immune to the Croatoan virus now lives in the apocalyptic aftermath. Only he can answer the questions that mock him. How did it come to this? What does he do next? Where in the hell is his brother Dean? Mock me no more.
1. Chapter 1

OK SUPERNATURAL IS NOT MINE. NOW THAT THAT'S OUT OF THE WAY...

Chapter 1: Hard Times

"Oh I got that feelin' once again, that everything's around me gonna end."

'Carnival of Crows' by The Parlor Mob.

Remember the age old question: 'If You Died Today Where Would You Go?' Yeah, the one you find on those tiny water-colored pamphlets that you always seem to get handed at the most inconvenient times that you never really notice. The little booklet with the people happily tolling away together with idiotic grins plastered on their faces while their children cuddle in painted fields with lambs and wolves. The ones that make you say 'oh, that's nice' or make you question your insignificant life for the briefest of moments before they are casually tossed into the garbage. Yes those. There were always two places to go in them right? The answer is simple according to them: either you go to heaven or you go to hell, and it's your choice and yours alone, repent and heaven is yours. Too bad it really isn't because the reality is you're already damned to hell, and only a select few have that option while the rest perceive to have it. But those faded wads of paper were a nice thought.

The littered street was decorated with garbage, upturned cars, and black specs peppering the jagged peaks of asphalt mountains of a once flawless intersection. The 'specs' noisily moved about rummaging from pile to pile as they sang out to one another, asking questions and receiving answers. And it was deafening the screams of the creatures, but it seemed muffled by the heavy air of an uneasy silence all the same. The silence caused by the absence of human life. And this was just as unsettling: the caws of crows, rejoicing in their newfound victory over the population of St. Louis as their owners hopped from body to body. Like a still life water color drenched in shades of gray and black and red; the road flayed before them the shattered pieces of an unremarkable hour, in a mudane week scattered among the remnants of an once mid-morning Tuesday. A scene spread before them captured in time like an insect in amber. Skeptical a bird eyed an odd round navy object it landed on as it balanced itself as it tettered back and forth. Losing interest in its partners it poked its head in pink folds of cloth and emerged with tattered cotton fabric in its beak. Not finding it of any value it dropped it, and dipped its head under again. It happily squawked and pulled away a fleshy patch from equally happy little zebras smiling back at it. No longer would they be beggars and thieves not since it began.

Sam Winchester rambled through broken crates looking for anything he could eat. Ripping through plywood he pulled free a wilted head of cabbage. He gingerly sniffed it and disguisedly tossed it aside. It splattered and left a slimy green trail behind it. He plunged his arm deeper until he found a somewhat, but not really, decent one. And it was still very foul he thought as he took a bite but this was about surviving and that was what he was going to do. Even without him.

After further exploring the derelict grocery store Sam sat down with a heavy sigh against a cold hard wall. He ran a thinning hand through his long unkept hair which was also starting to thin. Sam looked down at his greasy palm and decided a bath was in order as soon as he could find any water he could spare.

Sam folded his wiry frame when a crash deeply echoed and his hand was quickly down to his belt fingering his knife and his breathing was non existent, as he attempted to blend himself in with the shadows. The crash clattered again but much closer this time and Sam dared not move. He could only guess who was there and it would be so much better if he didn't catch its attention. Not until it was much to late of course. The third time he heard it, it was right behind him and he finally revealed himself. He swung around and caught it mid air in the stomach before the lifeless corpse felt to the tile below. Sam let out an air of relief it only was a young wildcat. Which was still dangerous but not what it could have been.

And it was a valuable resource. He found a heavy sack and lifted the animal into it. He tied it securely and slung it over his shoulder. This would give him a couple days of good eating he decided and his stomach growled in agreement. He would head back to his hideout and continue foraging another day.

A quiet fire flicked casting playful shadows across Sam Winchester's blood stricken face. He sat crosslegged and silently worked about, peeling the hide from his dinner. He tore the last bit free and set it aside for later use along with the bucket of guts he filled earlier. He got up and grunted with effort as the threw a wooden beam into his trash barrel fire. He watched the fire renew itself and he put his meat over it on his makeshift grill. After making sure it was secure he pulled his soaked shirt over his head and tossed it into a corner before sitting down at the antique desk he found in the abandoned house he lived in.

Taking a pencil from his pack and holding it between his teeth he opened up a stiff drawer and took out some maps and a journal. Looking over the wide map Sam took his pencil and lightly drew a half moon past the previous mark there. Another part of this god forsaken town scouted. He put the pencil to his pursed lips and thought as the sizzle of meat cooked in the background. He wondered how it all came to this.

The question that weighed heavily on his mind was where was his brother and why couldn't he find him. That night Dean left to say yes to Michael was the last he saw of him. That had been months ago and his search was going nowhere. He had no contacts no allies he was truly and utterly alone, left to his own.

In the beginning he prayed to Castiel, in hope, but he never answered him. Now he wasn't even sure if Cas was even alive. Some time after he stopped praying to Cas and at even one point tried to summon Crowley, but once again nobody came. At that point Sam almost lost it, being trapped in this hell within a hell. But Dean wouldn't stand for that he decided and now here he was mapping the city and learning all he could about what had happened.

From what he could tell he was the only survivor left in this part of the city. In the beginning there where others but they disappeared with time, from hunger or from the self-inflicted violence they gave one another. Or just simply from the virus itself, the Croatian that is. And once a day he went out and searched for other people, supplies, information, anything he could find. Some days were like today, not really helping him further along other than widened his circle on his map and give him a decent meal. And those were getting to be too few and far in between. Most days he found nothing, but that wasn't stopping him because he was finding Dean no matter what. No matter what.

Sam awoke and stared into the darkness quietly panting in the unnatural silence. He was on edge as every hair on his body stood and every tendon tightened in response to some unknown stimuli. He settled himself and slowly breathed in, breathed out. He waited and nothing happened, nothing moved it. The room felt like a void swallowing him. Something wasn't right he could feel it.

As if he was the midnight mist outside Sam rose with shot gun in hand and drifted across the room to the reinforced window. Cautiously he peered outside. Nothing. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Then a movement in the bush caught his eye. Sam stared intently trying to confirm if this was his mind playing tricks. The bush didn't move again.

Sam slid down and rested his back against the wall, obviously it was nothing. Just another lonely and lifeless night. Something moved outside of his window and his gun was instantly firmly nestled in the crook of his neck. He pointed it out a fired a warning shot. A sharp cry whimpered and a pup ran out of the yard and faded with the night. So it really was nothing.

Then the bottom half of the house tremored and Sam was thrown back from the window and landed on the other side of the room. A hefty body landed on his chest crushing him. He lost all the air in his lungs, and another small figure clawed its way through the wood barred window screeching. He punched he one on top of him and was head butted in return. Dizzy he fumbled for the gun that was thrown back not to far from him. It gripped him tighter, growling, and he could feel the hot breath on his face. He jabbed it in the throat until it let him go. Crawling Sam reached for the gun only to be intercepted by the smaller one and thrown against another wall. He felt the plaster crack beneath him. He easily threw the smaller frame off of him. But he was tackled to he ground again by the bigger one. They both landed with a sickening thud. He groaned as he felt a cold hard barrel dig into his stomach. The barrel of his gun he realized. He wiggled himself around and with all his might kicked the creature in its midsection. A heavy boot collided with soft tissue and the creature arched back, just enough for Sam to unload in its guts. Hearing its partner scream in agony the smaller one crawled up to the ceiling towards the window. Aiming to pursue Sam got up and fell down in pain and he saw it glare down at him with pitch black eyes and retreat into the night.

Sam groaned and blinked as morning rays invaded his eyesight. How long had he been out? He coughed and cleared a thick wad from his lungs and stiffly pulled himself up. Across from him was reason for his injuries. A young dark hair male stared lifelessly into space with crystal blue eyes. Blood oozed from his mouth. Sam coughed again. It must be getting colder too, he decided as he worked out the pain in his joints. He reached over and took a swig from his water jug and tightly fastened it back. He was tempted to splash a little on his face but his water was precious. It felt gritty and greasy with layers. In the end he took himself a complete bath and tended to his wounds from the night before. He felt much more refreshed. Well, there went most of his precious water.

Gingerly going upstairs to a bedroom Sam dug through a closet until he found an emerald sweater that could fit him. It was snug and hurt his ribs. Plus it fit like a hand me down. Everything he wore fit like a hand me down: either it was too small or too big. But this would have to do especially on this particularly chilling morning.

After a few more minutes in the closet he filled his backpack and headed back downstairs. It was time for him to go. They knew he was here now and in his state he wouldn't last a second round. He didn't know where exactly but it was better than were he was now. It was time for a new approach. Sam grabbed some of his meat he roasted the night before and stuffed his face with as much of it as he could. Walking around with it could draw attention from other hungry creatures, creatures that wouldn't mind eating him too. He looked at the unfinished hide on the wall. He would leave it too although it would have made a nice hood. He put all his other stuff in his bag and adjusted the straps so that it would sit high on his back and headed downstairs to the garage.

When he first came here he knew the family that lived here before him either had money or were up to their eyeballs in debt. The house gave the aura of a mid life crisis, finally free of children. Not that any of it did them any good now apparently. That's why he remembered the nice motorcycle they had. It was black and blue and well taken care of. It was somebody's pride and joy, much like Baby. He mounted it and put a helmet on. It felt awkward beneath him like it knew he wasn't its master, like an angry beast. Normally he wouldn't use it, rathering to travel on foot, but seeing as he wasn't coming back here and he had a long to go, maybe it would be the best. He pulled out into the long driveway and looked back at the lonely structure he called home for the past few months. It seemed depressed, now that the last occupant was abandoning it, it could finally die and fade away in somebody's memory. It was a sad thought admitted Sam, but there was nothing left for him in this area but trouble and it was time to move on.

a/n: So here is the beginning of the epic in my head. Please read and review, I don't want to do this if nobody but me will enjoy it, kinda like saying thank you for a meal. Anyway Chapter 2 is coming up.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Standing Tall

"A wise man who stands firm is a statesman, a foolish man who stands firm is a catastrophe."

Adlai E. Stevenson

Hope. What is it really? Well if you want to know it's like a sword, a double edged blade to be more exact. Hope can drive you forward, drive you harder, fill you with that sense of purpose. Hope can also cloud your judgement and crush you with a false sense of security.

As Sam thundered through the noon day streets he wasn't sure which he was. How can one have any hope left after everything and everyone is gone, but how could he give up on Dean? The bike sped along just like his thoughts did, pasting the relics of a once thriving city.

Soon his thoughts melted away and for once allowed him to enjoy himself as he gladed along. And odd sight brought him back to reality. Slowing his back down he looked further down the overpass to see a formidable barricade. Curious he rode towards it.

As Sam neared the barrier he could tell it was hastily put together and then later reinforced. And for some reason it had a gold omega poorly spray painted onto it. He stopped, parked the bike, and got off. Whatever this was it was meant to protect something, or maybe someone.

Sam paused. This was the only route heading eastward. Strange that it was blocked off like this. He made his decision: he was continuing east.

One thing Sam wasn't afraid of was heights. And he was glad for this as he dangled on the edge of the bridge. Left hand scoot, wiggle, right hand scoot, repeat. Sam chanted this in his mind before a random image of the 'chicken crossing the road' joke took over. Getting to the other side never seemed so difficult as he looked at least 11 yards away. He quickly dismissed it, favoring his chant instead.

Something pinged and his hand slipped and quickly found another hold. Where his hand once was smoke arose. He furrowed his brow looking upward and he counted three men on top the barrier and they didn't look happy.

"Hey! Are you crazy?" He called out.

Sam moved along faster when he received another bullet for his answer.

"You black eyed sum bitch! We'll kill ya!"

Someone shouted down at him.

"I'm not-" Sam ducked his head "infected!"

Sam almost lost his grip again. He firmly planted one hand and with the other drew his own pistol. He fired, tagging one in the arm.

He was rewarded with a hail of fire back. Sam pulled himself up locking both feet into the concrete gaps and fired again.

"I'm telling you I'm not infected! Just let me across!"

He fired again to give him a little more time to reposition himself.

"Kill the crafty bastard!" Shouted the injured one, making his friends even more rowdy.

Sam stopped talking because what was the use? Instead he emptied the rest of his clip. He was so close to his goal a few more feet, only one of the men stumbled over.

When Sam felt the force of another body colliding with his he could have swore his arm was torn clean off. They clung together both knowing that the only way to survive was for the other to let go. That's when he was kissed by the butt of a gun. Holding tight he wrapped his legs around the other man and swung his weight downwards.

"Get off me!"

"That's enough!" Shouted another unfamiliar voice. A tall man that didn't look much older than him came to the edge and jerked Sam up. Along with him the other followed too. They both fell to the concrete below.

"Now get your asses up."

Sam looked over to his right at the groaning figure and then to the cocked shot gun in his face and painfully stood up.

"I'm not infected." He calmly said slowly raising both palms for good measure.

The foreboding man a couple inches than himself chuckled in disbelief.

"Well obviously, now come on."

Gravel crunching beneath his feet, Sam walked in an awkward silence as he was being led deeper into the unknown. He looked around to find himself surrounded by piercing stares of refugees. So this is where everyone was. Their impassive faces stood out from ragged clothes, making them look like twisted store mannequins.

He was being led to a stone building and entered a tiny room with a table and a window. An old police station he realized. Another man with a sharp jaw line and and salt streaks in his once jet black hair already sat waiting. A lamp flickering on the table only made his deep set eyes, cave in deeper.

"Sit down. Make yourself comfortable." He said.

Sam felt a gentle yet firm nudge in his back from the man he recognized as the one who dragged him up. Sam reluctantly complied. He fought the urge to wince as he sat down and steeled his face. They sat in silence until they were the only ones left.

"Alright, let's begin. My name is Ronald Loving, former detective with the Saint Louis Police Department. And you are?"

"Samuel Bell." He lied, not sure of the people around him.

"Okay, Mr. Bell, I've got a few questions for you. First off why were you on the other side of the blockade?"

"It's where I've been living."

"On the other side?"

"Yes."

Detective Loving eyed him and continued.

"So you've been living on the other side?"

"Yeah, is that a problem?" Inquired Sam.

"Yes. Yes it is, based on the fact that that area has been quarantined for the last four months, due to the high infection rate."

"It's where I've been."

"Look, Mr. Bell, I don't believe you. So how about we try this again?"

"Okay, my name is Samuel Bell and I've been living over in western St. Louis for the past seven months."

"Cut the bullshit already!" snapped the officer. Sam didn't flinch.

Quickly as his outburst came it left and he was once again and composed man he was.

"Okay let's say I do believe you, even though the last patrol four months ago only found the infected. How? There are no commodities left, few livable areas, and wild animals run rampant."

"I'm a survivalist." he replied.

"And the fact you're not infected?"

"Lucky."

The detective sighed and opened his mouth to ask more questions, when the door opened and the tall man from before entered.

"Let him go, Ronald." He told him. "Come on, you're with me." He motioned towards Sam.

When the pair emerged into the sunlight again the crowd that had gathered had long since dispensed. Instead they continued their daily routines. Sam looked around. He watched men carry loads of bricks and supplies, and women attempting to make things better for those men by washing and cooking. He spotted a group of children as they competitively kicked a ball around. They cheered in delight as one boy skillfully kept it away from the opposition.

"At least they're not broken yet."

"Huh?" mumbled Sam aroused from his thoughts.

"The kids, at least they're not broken yet."

They continued walking with Sam trailing a step behind. The man spoke up again.

"The name is Ray, Ray Connors."

"Sam Bell."

"I saw what you did earlier."

"Yeah..."

"Pretty ballsy."

"I guess."

There was a pause again as they strode along. Where was this conversation going?

"I met a crazy sum bitch that liked to dangle from things back when I was in Iraq. I saw him scale the side of Saddam's palace just to get a peek of a naked lady statue inside. Of course got the whole unit in trouble... and could of used the stairs now that I think about it-"

"I don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why I'm not still being interrogated in that room."

Ray stopped walking and stood in front of a door.

"Because I think you can use your time better." he answered and gestured for Sam to go in.


End file.
